The Kraken's Heir
by LordTheo
Summary: Urrigon Greyjoy, youngest son of Balon Greyjoy, was raised amongst his people to be a true Ironborn - unlike his older brother Theon. He will reave, raid and rape his way across the known world if he must; but he will bring glory to himself, to his family and to his people. OC/Eventual Pairing. R&R!
1. Prologue

Balon Greyjoy stood defiantly in front of the man who had defeated him and his rebellion, head held high, looking him directly in the face, his unwavering, piercing gaze making the man uncomfortable despite being victorious and holding the man's very life in his hands. The viciousness of the Greyjoy's last stand had caused him to weep when he saw the death and destruction they had wrought upon his men; even now, the cloying stench of rotting flesh permeated the air around him, though it was but a few hours after the surrender. Standing here in the hall of his enemy, a thick layer of blood coating the floor upon which he stood, so deep that it went to his ankles, soaking his boots in the viscous crimson liquid, Eddard Stark felt truly alone.

Yet none of this perturbed Balon Greyjoy. The man who had fought on to the bitter end, even when his eldest sons were killed leaving him a daughter of five, one son of four years and another of one. It was those children, and their three uncles, who now stood behind their defeated lord. The biggest man standing behind Balon, his brother Victarion, looked as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to tear off Eddard's head with his bare hands. The next largest (though he could hardly be called large), Euron, wore a look of amusement, as if he knew that the rebellion would always come to this and that he was silently laughing at his brother. The smallest man, Aeron, and the two eldest children watched in fear, waiting to see what violent retribution would be brought against them. The youngest, however, who had barely seen one year and stood on unsteady legs, knee-deep in blood, stared right back at Eddard, in the same manner as his father, with such a hatred in his eyes that Eddard visibly recoiled when he met the boy's stare. He could not believe that such a young child, barely capable of speech, let alone walking, could harbour such hatred within him. He was too young to even understand why his family was doing what it did, why there was a strange man standing in his home and why he was standing in a warm, thick liquid. At least, so Eddard thought. However, interrupting Eddard's worrying about the child who would no doubt one day grow to hate the men who had torn his family apart, Robert Baratheon strode into the hall, his armour spattered in blood, his mighty hammer at his side.

"Ned!" he shouted, his booming voice echoing off the cold stone walls. "I see you've got the rebel scum under control." he growled.

Eddard swallowed nervously. After all, they had been the rebel scum only six years ago. _"Though,"_ thought Eddard, _"that was justified. This was not."_

"Yes, your Grace. They have surrendered. They await your sentence." he replied. Robert walked over to Balon, standing in front of him and looking him and his family up and down. He too, recoiled slightly when he met the eyes of the youngest son, whose unflinching stare caused him to lose his words for a short while. He looked Balon squarely in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

"Do you surrender and acknowledge me as your liege lord and rightful king?" Robert ground out.

Balon said nothing for a while, causing Eddard to tense up in anticipation of another battle, the anger and hatred in the room palpable, but he replied after a minute, coolly and evenly. "Yes."

"Yes, _Your Grace._" Eddard corrected, his voice also lacking in emotion. Robert waved his hand at Eddard, indicating his contentment with the way in which he was addressed.

"Greyjoy has just lost a rebellion after all." Robert mused, though he was still clearly not content with a simple surrender. Eddard simply grunted his agreement. Robert looked at Balon's eldest remaining son, an idea seemingly forming in his head, and then turned to face Eddard.

"You will take his heir to foster at Winterfell. His life will be forfeit if his father tries anything that goes against the laws of the realm." he said with finality, before striding out of the hall without a single backward glance, leaving Eddard to deal with the now-bawling child and his hostile family. The Greyjoy's did not react as he came forward to take the child away. They did not react as he picked up the crying toddler and they did not react as he carried him out of the hall. The only reaction that the Greyjoy's gave was a mild look of disappointment from Balon as his son began to cry, as if he was dishonoured by his son's fear.

"_No matter."_ thought Eddard. _"I will raise him to be a better man than his father. I only hope the gods will stop Balon from attempting such madness again." _

Just before he left the hall, Eddard cast one more glance back at the Greyjoy family and saw the youngest, the boy with the indomitable quiet strength, staring straight back at him. The last thing Eddard Stark ever saw of his new ward's family was the cold, hard and unflinching face of his younger brother; Urrigon Greyjoy.

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_Fifteen years later_

Dagmer Cleftjaw stood on the stone pontoon a few metres from the shoreline, watching as Aeron Greyjoy, otherwise known as the "Damphair", performed the blessing of the Drowned God on the young man kneeling in the waters in front of the priest; the young man was taking the blessing on his name-day, on the day that the laws of gods and men recognised him as a man. The Damphair uncorked a hide flask and upended it over the young man's head, pouring a stream of sea-water onto his wavy, shoulder-length jet-black hair. The young man kept his eyes closed as he was blessed and kept them shut as the priest began to speak the litany.

"Let Urrigon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were. Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel." the Damphair chanted in a low voice.

"What is dead may never die." the young man replied in a loud and firm voice.

"What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger." the priest affirmed, re-corking the flask and smiling gently down at the young man kneeling in the cold waters of the Sunset Sea. "Stand, nephew. You have been blessed by the Drowned God." he said. "It bodes well for your first reaving." he continued, as the young man began to make his way back to the pontoon, the shingle of the beach crunching beneath his black leather boots. The young man smiled back and nodded, but said nothing until he reached the tall, gaunt grey man standing next to Dagmer.

"Father." the young man said, bowing his head in deference. Balon Greyjoy inspected his son briefly before replying.

"Urrigon. My son." he said in his gruff voice. He looked Urrigon up and down once more before speaking again. "I am already proud of the man you have become. Though I was a year younger than you when I went on my first reaving, I do not doubt you will give me more reason to take pride in my son. Do not fail." he said, with a gentle smile before he returned his expression to his usual grim look. "Come Aeron. We have much to plan." he said, before turning and walking off, leaving his brother to hurry after him after saying another quick farewell to his nephew.

Urrigon watched his father for a short while before turning to Dagmer, jerking his head to tell him to follow, and walking towards the ship that was moored on the pontoon. His face had soured at his father's mention of how he was going on his first reaving more than a year later than his father had done when he was a boy, but he brightened again as he saw the ship that his father had given him for his sixteenth name day. The "Savage Fortune". That was the name Urrigon had given his ship, the newest, fastest and most manoeuvrable raiding longship in the Iron Islands. A single, tall mast was placed in the centre of the deck, with one long yardarm crossing it near the top. At the top of the mast was a small crow's nest which could accommodate one sailor, who would be on the lookout for other ships and landmarks along the coast, to which was attached rigging which led down to the gunwales and were attached to deadeyes keeping the mast up and in place. The sail attached to the yardarm, though currently furled, was jet-black with the golden Greyjoy Kraken sigil emblazoned on the front. Many metres of rope, coiled neatly, lay on the deck, all leading to different parts of the yardarm and the sail; ten oar-holes had been carved out of the wood of the bulwarks on each side of the ship at one metre intervals and there were benches next to each one, allowing room for three ironborn to sit on and row when they were becalmed or for getting to ramming speed when attacking other ships. The shields of each ironborn raider on the ship hung over the side, creating an awe-inspiring display of uniformity; all the shields were round and displayed the Greyjoy sigil of the golden Kraken, the men having been hand-picked by Balon for their loyalty to his house. A long and sharp ram, a long pointed piece of stout oak, covered in iron (a creation of one of the Iron Island's foremost shipwrights) that would shear through the hull of enemy ships. But the single most eye-catching thing on the ship was its figurehead; an intricately carved Kraken, its many tentacles spread backwards, clasping itself to the bow of the ship– a sight that would make any and all greenlanders tremble in their boots. All of this, Urrigon took in as he strode purposefully towards his ship, a grin spreading across his face as he got closer and closer and closer until finally he stood before the ship which would take him onwards to glory, and to victory.

Looking back at Dagmer nervously, his grin lessening slightly, he received a nod and, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, he vaulted over the side of the side of the ship, landing with a resounding thud on the deck. Urrigon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nostrils, savouring the scent of his home, the salt and the smell of the docks, listened to the sound of the screeching gulls and the slap of the waves on the stone pontoon as the tide began to rise. He heard a thud on the deck next to him as Dagmer jumped onto the ship and opened his eyes. Looking at their captain, the son of their Lord, some with eager anticipation, some with disdain, were the inexperienced raiders that were now his to command, waiting to hear his first order.

Dagmer looked at him and cleared his throat loudly, the sound twisted into a hideous noise by his split lips, attracting the attention of his new captain. "Orders, Cap'n?" he growled out. Urrigon looked briefly over to his First Mate, before looking back at his crew. His mouth grew into a predatory grin, the realisation of his power and freedom finally hitting home, before he spoke.

"Take us out Dagmer. Take us to glory!"

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**Hi guys, me again, this time with a new story! **

**I hope you liked the prologue, I haven't seen many/any ironborn-centric fanfiction on here and I personally think they're bloody cool, what with all the "take what you want" attitude. Anyway, it'll probably end up being very graphic, I'm fairly sure there will be violent sexual scenes (during raiding, mainly) and lots of killing and death (for those who like that sort of thing, I suppose this might be a good story for you). I also wonder what could've happened had Theon not been an idiot, so Urrigon will (hopefully) end up being everything his brother wanted to be, i.e. a true ironborn.**

**Please leave a comment telling me what you think and whether you spot any mistakes, spelling, grammatical or otherwise.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Sorry it took me this long to update, my laptop broke and I lost all of my files. It's here now though so I hope you enjoy it.**

**Trigger Warning: There is violence, rape and abduction in this so don't read it if you find that offensive. This is an ironborn story so there will be some very mature content.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF. All rights belong to G. R. R. Martin.**

**...**

The raiding longship rose and fell on the waves that buffeted its hull, as a strong breeze blew across the sea. Across the waters, several miles away, the lights of the small town on the coast of Fair Isle that would soon fall prey to the ironborn, glowed dimly, obscured by the thick fog that had enveloped the sea. The ironborn raiders sat quietly in the ship, the silence punctuated only by the occasional rasp of steel or iron on the rough surface of a whetstone as they sharpened their tools of death.

Dagmer Cleftjaw had stood watching his captain for the last five minutes as the young man steadied his nerves. Urrigon – for his first raid – was quite the sight, wearing a toughened, yet supple, black leather cuirass, with a short-sleeved shirt of mail underneath, black leather boots and a brown leather pauldron on his left shoulder with a strap running across his chest to his belt, all engraved with his family's sigil. His arms were bare and goosebumps were visible on his skin, the cool night air sending small shivers down his spine.

"_He looks the part."_ Dagmer thought. _"Now we'll just have see if he's anythin' like his father."_ He moved towards the young man, putting a hand on his shoulder, at which Urrigon tensed and turned quickly.

"Dagmer." he said, visibly relaxing as he saw who it was. "I think it's time." he continued after a pause, jerking his head in the direction of the town.

"Aye. It's time alright. The lads are beginnin' to get restless anyway." Dagmer replied. Urrigon nodded, but as he made to walk away, Dagmer pulled him back. "You nervous, boy?" he asked quietly.

Urrigon looked him straight in the face, his piercing blue eyes unmoving, thinking a moment before answering. "A little." he admitted with a bit of shame, his voice low so as not to lose face in front of the rest of the men.

"About killing?" Dagmer asked, somewhat surprised.

"No, no not killing." Urrigon replied, hesitating slightly. "I am afraid of death. Of dying and failing my father." he continued.

Dagmer nodded sagely, his doubts assuaged. "Aye, you should be. It's your first raid. If you weren't you'd either have to be stupid, or mad, like your uncle Euron." he said. "And you're neither, I can tell. I was scared on my first raid, as is every man, but you'll get over it. You are Balon Greyjoy's son. Trust me. As soon as you kill your first man, rape your first woman, take your first trophy, you won't want to do anything else. Now come on. You have to lead us if you want to succeed your father as his heir. It'll take quite a lot to follow him. Begin with tonight." he continued, giving Urrigon one final, fatherly pat on the shoulder before turning to the rest of the men.

"Come on lads, it's time! Let's go and kill ourselves some fuckin' greenlanders!" he said, raising his voice slightly, emboldening the raiders. The men cheered as they heard his words, not worried about giving their presence away because of the thick fog, and made their way quickly over to their benches, sitting by the oarlocks and slotting the oars through the holes, their weapons and mail shirts clinking loudly as they moved. Once the rowers had sat down in their places, ten men rowing on each side of the longship, they, and the rest of the men, looked up as their captain stood on a small box and addressed them from the prow of the ship.

"Listen up." Urrigon said, his voice low and unwavering. "We will do this my way. We will do this quickly and quietly. We will be as demons in the night, gone without a trace before their knights can reach us. When we reach the shore, Erik," Urrigon said, looking at the man he had named, "Meldren and Harren will go ahead. Kill any lookouts you find, or patrols if you think you can take them. If you are not certain of killing a patrol quickly and quietly or if you think that there is a chance one might escape and raise the alarm, do not attack them. I want to get as close as I can before alerting them to our presence. Am I clear? Good." he said, with finality, not waiting for the men to answer him. "Once we reach the town, we will attack only when I say. Any man who breaks silence or attacks before I give the command will die." he continued, jumping back down into the ship, landing softly on the balls of his feet. "Am I understood?" he asked, the threat of violence lingering in the air as he idly fingered the handle of his axe.

"Aye." Dagmer said. He, and indeed the rest of the crew, looked at their captain with a new-found respect, as they saw the young man's natural leadership beginning to reveal itself.

"Haul up the anchor." Urrigon ordered. One of the ironborn standing near Urrigon obeyed the order, straining as he pulled the heavy anchor up from the deeps below. As he did so a great peal of thunder rolled across the sky and the wind began to increase in intensity, blowing harder and harder and harder, until it was a howl. Rain began to pelt down from the heavens, big fat drops of water hitting the deck of the ship and the waters around it. Looking to the sky, Dagmer began to laugh, at first quietly, then growing louder and louder, shouting with glee at the sight of the storm.

Urrigon looked at the older man with curiosity. "What are you laughing at old man?" he asked, raising his voice almost to a shout, so that he might be heard over the noise of the storm.

Dagmer turned to him, glee plastered across his face. "The Drowned God wishes to save us from the Storm God's wrath! Look how he sends the wind to drive our ship to victory! Ha ha!" he bellowed, letting out a bellow of joy, the other sailors joining him in laughter, cheering loudly and shouting praise to their god. Urrigon laughed and smiled viciously, all former hints of fear gone, and looked Dagmer straight in the eyes.

"Well then, my friend. It would be rude of us not to make the best use of the Drowned God's gift, no?" he smirked. "So let us go and do what he made us for. Let us reave, let us raid, let us kill." he said, his voice getting louder and louder, becoming a shout, before looking to the rowers and the men standing around the mast, steadying himself as the waves grew larger and the sea spray stronger.

"Let down the sail! Show our sigil! Let them know who their enemies are! Row! Row us to glory!" he shouted.

…

The prow of the longship sliced through the fog, the carved Kraken figurehead looking like the face of some unnatural demon. The storm raged on, the ironborn raiders tossed around by the waves, their faces battered by the salty spray, until the hulls of the longboats scraped softly against the shingle of the beach. Urrigon moved forward in the boat, managing to keep his balance as it quickly came juddering to a halt, stopping at the prow and straining his eyes to see through the heavy fog. Satisfied that there was not a band of greenlanders waiting to kill them the moment they set foot on the beach, he turned back to the men who were waiting with bated breath, motioned silently with his arm for them to follow him and vaulted over the side of the boat, landing with a loud splash in the water, before jogging quickly up the beach and into the tree-line, away from any prying eyes. Once the rest of the men had followed suit and had joined him in the trees, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Erik, Meldren, Harren you know what to do. Go. We'll follow in a few minutes. When you see us, and you know that the way is clear, make the signal." he whispered. "And remember. Not. A. Sound." he added as the three men slunk off into the night, axes in hand.

The men were silent, all signs of nervousness gone only to be replaced with cold determination. They waited impatiently for a few minutes, some praying to the Drowned God, others only dreaming of the spoils of war, until, believing that he had given them enough time to kill any guards in their way, Urrigon stood and motioned for them to follow him. They hurried through the forest as quietly as they could, passing the dead bodies of three men wearing the sigil of House Farman, making no noise except for the occasional snap of a twig or rustle of a mail shirt, until the trees began to thin out. Upon seeing this the warband stopped, the men crouching slightly so that they were less obvious as they waited for the signal from the scouts. They waited a few minutes before they heard the sound of an owl hooting coming from their front – the signal. As they moved forward into position, they saw the town properly for the first time. The first buildings of the small town lay just twenty metres from the trees, small stone houses with small enclosures attached to them, with pigs and sheep inside them. Beyond the houses, a small stone street led up a gently sloping hill, houses much like the first ones on each side, leading to a small stone sept at the top of the hill. Both wooden and stone houses sprawled out from the central road, though there were not many, only perhaps two or three past those on the road, and about halfway up the street there was a wooden inn, three storeys high, brightly lit, with the sounds of music, laughter and drinking coming from within. There was no one on the street and in the houses that lined it, only a few had candles burning within; the fog, though it had begun to lift, still blanketed the town, and the raging storm muffled the entire area.

Urrigon thought for a moment, thinking of the best way to attack the town, before turning to the thirty men behind him and beckoning for them to come closer, so that they might hear him over the sound of the tempestuous storm.

"Alright," he began, "we attack the inn first. It's where most of the people will be. It's late as well, so they'll be drunk – less of a fight." he said, a few of the men grinning at his words. "After that, we spread out through the town. We don't have a lot of room on-board so try to only take valuables – gold, silver, whatever you can find. 'Cos of the lack of space in the ship, we can't take too many women and thralls back with us, so just use them and then cut their throats. Any resistance – well, you know what to do." he finished with a cruel smile. The men nodded eagerly, the excitement almost reaching breaking point, and began to move forward into the town, split evenly so that half were on one side of the road and half on the other.

Urrigon, on the left side of the road, crept along the street as quietly as he could, stopping abruptly whenever he heard a noise in anticipation of an attack; he was on edge, as were they all, as the expectancy of a fight had adrenaline pumping through them all. Suddenly, when they were only a few metres from the inn, the door to the house closest to the inn opened and out stepped a middle-aged fat man whose mouth, when he saw Urrigon, dropped open in surprise.

Urrigon, acting instantly out of instinct and fear that they would be discovered before they were in place and ready to attack, swung his axe up and into the man's jaw, slicing off half of the man's head, blood and the man's brains spraying over Urrigon's face. The semi-decapitated man gurgled as he dropped to his knees, blood spurting from the side of his head onto the stone street as his tongue lolled comically out the side of his mouth, his eyes showing his fear and pain as his hands clutched desperately at his face; the small purse that he had been carrying in his hands, filled with coins that would presumably have been spent in the inn, dropped to the floor and Urrigon stooped and picked it up in one smooth movement, turning to Dagmer, who had been following behind him, grinning wildly with pure, unadulterated joy.

What Urrigon felt when his axe took off half of the man's head was, to him, almost indescribable. Joy, lust, power, fulfilment. That is what Urrigon felt. He wanted more and, looking up at the inn, he knew he would get it. He moved quickly, beckoning furiously for the other men to follow him and ran up to the door of the inn, all secrecy abandoned, his bloodlust running high, kicked open the door and walked in, Dagmer and seven others behind him, the sounds of the storm and the deluge of rain spilling into the inn from the open doorway. The room that they walked into was large, filled with smoke from the fire and the scent of cooking meat in the air. To his right and to the side, there was the bar, behind which stood the inkeep, who had looked up sharply when his door was kicked down. To the left of the bar, stairs went up leading to the other floors. The rest of the room was occupied by a fire-pit in the middle, and tables around it.

The innkeeper, more than a little disgruntled by the apparent destruction of his door, wiped his hands on a greasy rag and opened his mouth to speak.

"Oi! No weapons allowed in 'ere! Leave 'em outside if you want to-" the inkeep began, at which the patrons of the inn and the serving wenches, all of whom had turned to look at the door upon Urrigon's loud, and only somewhat unsubtle entrance, perked up, the minstrels' music trailing off as they saw the heavy-set, well-armed and intimidating men. The innkeeper trailed off as he saw the five others behind Urrigon, his eyes darting quickly over their bodies, trying to find some evidence of their allegiance. "Who are you?" the man asked, beginning to back away slowly, licking his lips apprehensively, his face beginning to shine with a nervous sweat.

Urrigon said nothing. He looked quickly over to Dagmer with a toothy grin, before lifting his shield in response, revealing the proud golden Kraken of his House, drawing his axe as he did so.

"Oh. Bugger." the innkeeper said dumbly, frozen with fear. He remained that way for a few more seconds, the others in the room unmoving they too staring dumbly, astonished at their misfortune, before Dagmer hurled his axe into the man's head, cleaving it in two as it passed through the man's skull and embedded itself in a wooden beam. Every other villager in the room, men and women, stared in horror at the grisly sight before them. They screamed as one. The slaughter began.

Urrigon leapt forward through the tumult, having found his first target, swinging his axe down into the man's body, the blade slicing through muscle, sinew and bone, detaching the arm from the man's shoulder before swinging his axe up once more, into the man's neck, ending his life with a flash of steel and a spray of crimson blood. He threw back his head and gave a great shout, a loud and guttural roar, a roar so loud and filled with joy and hate, that to the men and women that yet lived who witnessed it, it felt as if the very ground itself was trembling in fear. To them, this man – this, wild-eyed, blood-crazed monster – was Death incarnate.

He moved forward, a look of pure joy plastered across his face, searching for another victim. As he looked around the room, he saw his men hacking the hapless greenlanders to pieces, chunks of flesh flying across the room accompanied by horrendous screams. Blood coated the floor, the wooden boards slick with the red liquid. Spotting what he deemed a suitable target, Urrigon moved forwards, swinging his axe again and again, cutting through hapless men and women, laughing manically with blood-lust as he ended life after life, after life; he was about to kill yet another man, raising his axe for the final blow, but stopped and turned to face the door when he heard the one sound he wished he hadn't; the tolling of the septry bells.

Casting a rueful glance back towards the man that he had hoped to kill, only to see his headless body flailing around helplessly, bringing forth a chuckle from Urrigon at the comical sight, he turned and sprinted through the doors, shouting for Dagmer and the rest of the men to follow him.

Not checking to see if they had heard, he continued running up the street, his arms and legs pumping hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins and breathing hard, until he reached the Sept. Urrigon paused for a second, catching his breath as he heard several of his men come running up behind him, before walking up to the small door and kicking it as hard as he could.

The weak wooden door splintered from the force of the kick, its frame flying several metres into the room. Several loud screams came from within as he stepped in, squinting his eyes as they adjusted to the light within. Torches burned in sconces on the walls, illuminating the seven well-carved statues of the gods of the Faith of the Seven, a skylight fashioned from crystal in the domed roof let the light of the moon shine through, landing in a neat circle on the floor, beyond which, ten people cowered at the back of the sept. Two corridors on opposite sides of the sept led away from the main room. In front of the ten cowering people that, upon closer inspection, were all revealed to be young women, stood the Septon of the town in the circle of moonlight; a fat, timid looking man carrying a wooden staff, his fleshy jowls quivered with fear and his hands shook as he took in the sight of ten huge, blood-soaked men.

Urrigon looked behind him to his men. "Dagmer, Erik, find that bloody bell and stop it ringing before it brings the entire fucking island down on our heads. Go!" he shouted as they ran off, Dagmer down the left corridor, Erik down the right.

"Come no further heretic!" the Septon said, trying to sound commanding. "In the name of the Gods why are you doing this?!" the Septon shouted, choking with terror as Urrigon advanced slowly, a menacing smile on his face.

Urrigon slid the shaft of his axe back through its ring, instead drawing the knife from his belt, as he stopped less than a metre from the man's face. He smiled and looked at the knife, twisting it in his fingers as the moonlight streaming through the skylight reflected off the blade. He leaned his face into the Septon's and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, gripping him tightly. As he did so, a scream of pain followed by a loud gurgling sound came from the left corridor, at the same time that the bells stopped ringing.

"Because I can." Urrigon smiled, as he drove the knife into the man's fleshy stomach, pulling and twisting it around, causing stinking guts, stomach fluids and semi-digested food to flop out of the gaping wound. All but two of the women behind him screamed in fear as they watched their protector die, though their quivering hands did little to conceal their terror. The man was so pathetic that he could not even muster a scream, much to Urrigon's dismay; instead, all he managed was a forlorn wail as his innards spilled out onto the floor as he collapsed to the ground. Urrigon laughed at the sight, though he gagged slightly and covered his nose when the smell reached him. He stood, watching the man flail helplessly around on the floor, his life-blood running across the ground, staining it red, before turning his attention to the cowering women behind the now-lifeless corpse.

Two of the women stood defiantly in front of the others, ushering their companions behind them in a useless attempt to protect them – they were all unarmed after all. Urrigon looked away from them as Dagmer and Erik returned to the room and stood by his side, turning to the rest of his men.

"Well boys. We've only got a little while before their knights are armed and ready and we wouldn't want to leave these lovely ladies here for them to abuse? Would we?" he said, a wolfish smile spreading across his face as the men laughed menacingly. They advanced towards the women, causing some to whimper in fear. The two women at the front, one blonde and buxom, the other raven-haired and lithe, began to abandon their false display of bravado; they started to tremble and began to back away, back towards their friends, as the men behind Urrigon loosened their belts, the lust in their eyes obvious.

"I get the blonde." Urrigon said, licking his lips salaciously. "Take whoever you want. Slit their throats when you're done, we don't have the space for them." he continued. As he spoke, the last remnants of defiance from the two women evaporated and they bolted, the blonde to the left, the raven-haired one to the right. Dagmer raced after the raven-haired girl, laughing manically as he did so; the other men rushed forwards grabbing the first woman they could, forcing themselves upon them, ear-splitting screams echoing loudly around the room. Urrigon sprinted after the blonde, her panting and terrified looks thrown behind her only serving to heighten his lust.

He caught her after she had run a few metres into the passageway, throwing her to the ground and unlacing his britches. She continued to scream writhing around on the floor, wetting herself in terror as Urrigon ripped open her bodice, causing her ample creamy breasts to spill out, and tore off her dress, his base desire and need to sate his lust doing nothing to restrain his violence. He grabbed a breast in one hand and his cock in the other, stroking himself furiously until he was hard, before forcing her head to the ground so that her rear stuck up in the air, still kicking and screaming, pleading with him, begging him, to spare her innocence.

He did not. He thrust himself into her in one violent stroke, breaking through her maidenhead, eliciting yet another scream of pain, and cried out in pleasure. She was his first woman and to Urrigon, there could not be any better feeling in the world. He pumped her cunny, thrusting in and out with no regard to her own pleasure, grunting as an animal would, the tightness of her cunt feeling as if it were a moist silk glove around his member, kneading her breasts with his palms. She was slick, having wet herself with fear, and the feeling only intensified his pleasure. He thrust into her hard as he began to near his peak, pumping his hips for a few more short strokes before spilling his seed inside her womb. She had stopped struggling, though whether it was because of a resigned acceptance of her fate or because she was waiting for a more opportune moment to strike, Urrigon did not know and, frankly, he did not care; he was riding high on a wave of ecstasy and euphoria and the thoughts of an inconsequential village girl mattered little to him.

He pulled himself out of her, lacing his britches back up as he stood. He looked down on her, his gaze still filled with lust; Urrigon was not yet sated, and the sight of his first conquest lying motionless on the ground served to arouse him once more. He was, however, more than aware that they had little, if any, time before the knights of Fair Isle came crashing down upon the village and so, having decided that he was not yet done with her, made to pick her up.

"_I shall take her as my salt wife."_ Urrigon thought. _"She'll serve my needs well. I can always get another if I tire of her."_ he mused happily, his mind still slightly clouded with a fog of pleasure.

As he grabbed her arm, however, she leapt up and slapped him in the face as hard as she possibly could, desperately trying to extricate her arm from his grasp; Urrigon's grip was, however, much stronger than she had anticipated and she failed in her attempt. Urrigon was, predictably, not particularly happy with her attempt to escape and so, winding his right arm back, he slapped her in the face, returning the favour – though with far more force. Her head snapped to the left, as she cried out in pain. He grabbed her face with his hand and turned it roughly so that he could see her.

"You are mine now! You belong to me!" he shouted, spittle flying in her face; if she was not scared before, she was completely and utterly terrified now. She whimpered in fear, her eyes, which Urrigon now saw were a pretty sky-blue colour, filling with tears, with the beginnings of a bruise beginning to form on her face, as the reality of her situation began to sink in. She had not only had her chastity violated, and had almost certainly lost her family to the bloody attack of the ironborn, but she was now also faced with a lifetime of being this man's whore who he would freely give to his men to satisfy themselves with – or so she thought, for Urrigon was, by his very nature, extremely protective, violently so, of what he saw as his; and, in his view, she was now most certainly, and without any doubt, his.

"Urrigon, we must go! Meldren has spotted a group of knights ridin' this way and they're ridin' fast! They'll be here in ten minutes at the pace they're goin' at!" Dagmer shouted from the main room of the sept as he struggled with the raven-haired girl at his feet – it seemed that he too had decided to take a salt wife – causing Urrigon to whip around to look at his second-in-command. He nodded in reply and turned back to the girl, grabbing her and swinging her scantily-clad body over his shoulder and jogging back to Dagmer. He paused and looked around him, seeing the corpses of the raped girls lying haphazardly around the room, blood running down their bodies from red lines in their necks and seed running from their most sacred of areas. Some had had their breasts sliced off and others had had their tongues ripped out; even for Urrigon, who had been raised to expect and indeed desire violence against everyone that was not ironborn, it was a truly gruesome sight. _"Such are our ways." _he mused. The girl on his shoulder, quiet until now, gave a rending wail as she saw the ways in which her friends had been so brutally treated, beating her fists weakly against Urrigon's back. He said nothing, did nothing, except walk out of the sept and back into the pelting rain, to hear the screams of dying and fleeing villagers. Turning to assure himself that the rest of his men were following him, he jogged down the street in the direction of their vessel, shouting at the men who were still looting and pillaging the houses to abandon their fun and return to the ship. Most of them quickly followed suit, carrying the spoils of the raid in their arms and small sacks which jingled with the sound of metal – if they had been lucky, it would be coins and valuable trinkets; if not, it would be nothing but ordinary metals, like tin and iron, which would be used to forge new weapons.

Urrigon began to tire as he jogged out of the outskirts of the town and into the edge of the forest, the extra weight of the girl over his shoulder weighing him down. _"Such is the price for pleasure!"_ Urrigon thought to himself, bursting out laughing at the crass joke and the absurdity of the thought. A few of his men gave him odd looks but most of the young crew still remembered their first reaving and the vicious joy and high spirits that accompanied it and so said nothing, but laughed alongside their young leader.

As they began to near the boat, they heard shouts coming from behind them; the knights of Fair Isle had clearly arrived and some of the stragglers of the group would now no doubt be regretting their late departure from the town. Urrigon chanced a glance behind him, seeing the faint glimmer of polished armour in the moonlight and behind them, the vague outlines of men holding bows. The fear of death after such a successful raid was enough to give Urrigon a second-wind.

"Run!" he shouted, breaking into a run, the body of the girl over his shoulder bouncing even more violently as he sprinted through the trees, dodging scratching brambles and low-hanging branches as he went, the loud whistle of an arrow startling him as it flew past his ear, embedding itself in a tree in front of him. Luckily, though the archers were still on foot, the knights could not go as fast through the densely wooded trees – though they would not be held by the undergrowth for long.

Urrigon and the rest of the men that had been running alongside him burst suddenly out of the tree-line, making a beeline for their ship, which almost ten men had already reached and were now trying to push it off the beach. As they reached the boat Urrigon and Dagmer, having dumped their women unceremoniously into the ship, sending two men up to ensure they did not escape, joined the effort to free the ship from the sand of the beach. The chasing archers, of which there were ten, also emerged from the treeline, followed closely by ten knights who hacked their way through the last few branches. The knights came to a stop and appeared to argue for a few seconds before they charged forward, the hooves of their horses pounding the sand, as the archers behind them readied their arrows.

As the knights charged forward, the ironborn men succeeded in pushing the ship off the beach, turning it to face out to sea and clambering in. As they climbed up, Urrigon heard the twang of bowstrings being released and heard the tell-tale sound of arrows in flight. Already in the boat, Urrigon raised his shield, pulling the blonde girl underneath him, as he shouted for the others to do the same; they complied just in time, as the arrows thumped into the deck, the arrowheads piercing some of the shields, though none went clean through; only one cry of pain came from the men, from one man that had not managed to raise his shield in time and now blood pumped from the hole in his neck.

"Raise the sail!" he shouted, "Oarsmen to their places! Row hard, get us away from this thrice-damned beach!" he continued, as yet more arrows hit the deck and their shields. The men obeyed his order, now wanting nothing more than to get away from death and return to their homes with the spoils of war. They were indeed lucky that the storm still raged and the sail caught the howling wind almost the second it had fully unfurled, causing the ship to lurch forward, knocking everyone to their knees just as the knights reached the surf; Urrigon fell on the girl who looked up at him with misery, tears streaking down her face, knowing that her fate was now sealed, that she could no longer be saved by the oh-so-brave and handsome greenlander knights. Urrigon smirked at her distress and stood warily, steadying himself against the bucking waves. He turned and went to stand at the stern of the ship, looking back at the rapidly disappearing figures on the beach as the wind and the strength of the oarsmen carried them far, far away from the range of the archers. He pulled out the purse he had taken from his first kill, untying the drawstrings and looking inside. The bright gleam of gold caught the light of the moon, making him laugh, only now beginning to comprehend the success of his first raid. Dagmer walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he too looked back at the beach.

"Did I do well? Or did I do well?" Urrigon asked with a cocky smile and a laugh, still looking back at the beach.

Dagmer laughed, shaking his head slightly at the arrogance of youth. "Aye, boy, you did well. You did well."

...

**DraekonGreycloak: Sorry it took so long; the next chapter for A True Baratheon should also be up at some point this week – I lost all the chapters I had done for it when my computer melted. Sorry :(**

**To everyone else that commented thank you! So there it is guys, Chapter 1 of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it, sorry it took so long to update. I don't know when the next update will come, but I will try my hardest not to leave it as long as I did.**

**Leave a comment telling me what you thought, they really keep me going.**

**I****f you see any errors, grammatical or otherwise, ****please tell me so that I can correct them. Thanks for reading guys, see you next time!**


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